Unwanted Birthright
by allykins-mate
Summary: A young woman of French blood is starting her life in Toronto. All is somewhat good, until a pale cloaked man crosses her path.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Dan Brown's characters, or the events in which they take place in any of his publications. However, I do own all the original characters within this work of passionate fiction.

The last chime of the Christ Church bell rang at 3 minutes to eleven o'clock, calling the city's loyal Anglicans to noon service for their week's fill of the lord's word. At that very moment, an oven opened releasing the pungent scent of cinnamon rolls to venture through the room, and more importantly, up the ventilation system of the 14 storey apartment of rather nice décor nestled snugly in a rather expensive area of downtown Toronto. Also at that very moment, an alarm clock was set to go off, waking a woman in an 11th floor apartment overlooking the city. However, it did not go off.

Finally, the smell of cooked raisins and cinnamon filled the 11th floor apartment, and 11:07, the occupant of the room was awoken by the smell. The woman slowly awoke, and rolled over to her clockradio, anticipating another 15 minutes of half-consciousness.

"Merde!" The woman yelled.

"I'm late! My first bloody day of training, and I've messed up before even getting out of bed! Oh, horrid Omens!" She yelled, in a mock-British accent, while running frantically in a bee-line for the shower.

Christine Marie Berge. That is the young woman of 23's name. She had grown up in Quebec city with her parents, yet her career had unfortunately brought her to a city she had told herself she would never return to of her own will. Yet, there she stood. Naked, fumbling with a bottle of Fructis: Anti-dandruff, preparing for her first day as an apprentice at an advertising company known for it's production of youthful, hard-ass high class socialites, transmogrified from innocent young university students, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and oh-so-ignorant as to what the real world really meant; Pushing other people out of your way, and climbing their discarded carcasses to the top of the success pile, and becoming Alpha being in a city of striving Alphas.

Christine was no Alpha. She wasn't even a Beta. She studied advertising to sate her father's desires for her to mirror his own greatness. Her killer instincts didn't even compare to those of her father's. He was a renowned lawyer and Author, who'd recently closed a deal for $10 Million for his theories of Psychology in the courtroom.

Her family had come from Alsace Lorraine when the ownership of that land was due to change hands. Her father grew up in Quebec city under the watch of his father, who uprooted him to Canada at a very young age. Her mother was pure Quebecois, however.

"Where is my blouse? Merde, I just set it down. Ah! Now, my watch. Jesu, I'm almost ready." She muttered to herself while hurriedly mixing herself an energy drink. She grabbed her Louis Vuitton purse, kissed her family's Fleur de Liz, and exited the 11th floor apartment just as the clock rolled to 11:30. She was due across town at 12:00.

She blew past the front desk waving adieu to Gerald, the watchman of the upscale complex, and dashed straight into the underground station adjacent to her building.

She sat silently, as all people do on the underground, and prepared her introduction to her employer in her mind.

_Good day! I am Christine Marie Berge. I am the apprentice here now._ She thought. "Non!" _Hello. Christine Berge, your new apprentice! _"Oui, that's it!" She said in a whisper. She looked across from her momentarily, and peripherally saw a man in a cloak shading his visage in front of her.

"God damnit! Fucking lousy trains." A random man yelled, as the power failed on the train. They were in the middle of an underground tunnel. Moments later, the lights returned. The man was gone.

"Hmm. Must've been seeing things" She said to herself. She shook it off, and her train docked in her station. She dashed out of the train, and hurried up the urine-scented stairway past dozens of beggars and buskers. She entered daylight, and gazed upon the iron fortress that was her new employer.

"Sweet Jesus. What have I gotten myself into."

She made her way upstairs past judging glances, and unfriendly stares. "Floor 7. Door 113. Mr.Lehman. Ok, show me your worst, Mr.Lehman!" She said while reading her directions aloud.

"Hopefully, just my best today, miss Berge." A voice answered. "I am John Lehman, the boss on this floor. Nice to meet you, Christine I assume." The towering man leered down with no trace of friendliness in his eyes, and offered his hand.

_Dear Christ._ She thought. "No worries, dear. It's expected. I of all people know how much of a prick I am." Christine broke a smile, and anticipated one in return, but no such thing was offered._ He was serious?_

The clock rolled over to 7:00pm. She left the building, not smiling or frowning. She didn't care about the events of the day. It's hard to when you have absolutely no passion for the job you are doing. She sat in the crowded train car, and closed her eyes, wrinkling her brow in disbelief of what her life had become. _I just want to run._ She thought.

The power went out again. Fortunately, they were at a station. Unfortunately, not her station. She trudged irately to the street, and began her search for a taxi. The sun had set, and she was on Yong street. That wasn't good. Before she even hailed a cab, one pulled up beside her. She opened the door, and was lifting her leg to climb in to the back seat when she realized the cab was already occupied, by the man she had seen on the subway. The man with the cloak. She wasn't quite sure how to react, and before she could she was being pulled forward forcefully by the cloaked man.

Before a scream could escape her lips, she was being held down by the man, and the doors clicked locked behind her.

"What the hell is…" Before her sentence finished, she felt a sharp prick in her neck, and darkness started to creep closer toward her. The man pulled back his hood, and the last thing she saw in her fading consciousness was a pair of cold eyes bordered by snow white eyelashes, and the skin of an Irish hermit.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Dan Brown's characters or publications, blah, blah, blah. On with the freaking story.

"But where are we to meet? How will I know what time? All I have is these plane tickets leaving here tomorrow at 5:00pm and landing in Barcelona 7 hours later."

The tall man clad in a monk's robes paced worriedly across the floor, speaking to a man dressed quite more elegantly than he.

"Question me not, Silas. The plan is set. It is for your own safety as well as the girl's that you know as little as possible." The Bishop said sternly to the man.

"And the woman? I am to take her as well?" He questioned with a look of disbelief and worry.

"She is your responsibility. Her life is essential to us. You know that already. Guard it like your own." The Bishop said, while placing his hand on the man's shoulder. He bowed his head, locked gazes for an extended moment, then turned his path to directly out the front door of the grand entrance to New York's magnificent Opus Dei headquarters.

"A woman's life on equal to my own. A disgrace to god's laws." Silas muttered, while pawing through a pile of maps and travel information.

Christine's eyes were fluttering as if in REM cycles, then opened slowly, hesitating to take in her unfamiliar surroundings.

"Where am I?" She asked herself while attempting to sit up, not realizing she was restrained to a leather strap fastened to the bed she was occupying. "What happened? I was going home, and…" She let out a terrified gasp as Silas stood up revealing his impressive stature across the room from her, and began a slow approach through the shadows. Now she remembered. The man on the train.

"What's going on, let me up!" She yelled while thrashing from side to side desperately hoping for a loose rope, never letting her eyes glance off of his advancing form.

She felt a searing pain against her cheek as Silas' sharp knuckle connected with it. "Order me not, woman. You are to remain silent in this holy temple. Your mere presence is a stain upon this room." Silas commanded with a mean sneer on his face.

Christine clutched her cheek, still pulling on her restraints in some desperate hope. Silas paced momentarily, then retrieved a cell phone from within his pocket. He pressed one number, then stood staring into the darkness. "Yes. She is here. Room 2127. All of you? We'll be waiting." He killed the call, and turned back to Christine. "Prepare for the most important moment so far in your life, woman. You haven't even a clue of the gravity of your situation." He stared a moment longer, then turned to a knock at the door.

"Silas. Son, you have done well." A dark man wearing all red told him. "The girl is just what we expected. Remarkable resemblance, no? Whatever the facts may be, now, Silas, you may stand down."

"Aringarosa told me to stay with the girl. She is my responsibility. I am to stay." Silas said pointedly to the man in Red. He did not budge as the dark man approached him. "Silas, you are to go." He said one last time. Silas nodded, and turned towards the door.

Christine let out a little cry. Even though he had abused her in such a terrible way, Silas leaving meant whatever plan had been intended for her was being changed. And more so, the original plan, as she understood it, was that she was to remain unharmed. This new plan made no such promise. Her abuser and ironically only protector was waltzing out the door.

"No. Don't. You're supposed to stay. Please, what's happening? Who the fuck are all you people?" Christine yelled, beginning to cry in panic.

Silas stopped dead in his tracks. "Domine Patris…" He uttered, turning his glance to the man in red robes.

"What?" The man asked. "Domine. Patris. What does it mean?" Silas said, in a voice uncannily similar to the hiss of a cat.

"Silas, my son. Why do you test me? Can't you see…" Silas drew a gun at the man. "Don't… move… Stay right there." Silas moved towards Christine, gun drawn on the man. He undid her restraints with his free hand. She followed him very willingly. "I knew this was a trap. You were not sent by the leaders. You cannot deceive a true servant of God. He punishes liars as he punishes murderers." Silas said in a low voice, grabbing the plane tickets from the bedside table.

Christine contemplated running, but where and who to? It was uncertain as to who actually wanted her dead, and who would need her alive within this household, and the man with the gun was above all the most obvious choice as to who to obey.

Silas lead them both out of the room, grabbing Christine by the wrist. He pulled her down the hallway, around corner after corner until finally they reached an open space. It was a magnificent hall, with a ceiling at least 40 feet high, and décor to match the Taj Mahal. "Dear lord. Where are we?" She asked. "The grand entrance hall. This is my home." He answered. It was more of an answer than she'd expected.

They left the building, and he lead her to a black car parked with the keys in the ignition infront of the magnificent building. He opened the door. _Chivalry?_ She thought. He shoved her into the front seat, and slammed the door behind her. _Guess not._

"Who were they?" Christine asked. "They were not servants of God." He answered. "As opposed to you, who… is?" She said in a sarcastic tone. He turned to her with a look of condescension on his face. "They were what you would call spies. Faire du espionage? They do not want my task to be completed, and above all, they want you."

Christine traced her recent memories. Had she done something? Bought something she shouldn't have? Talked to the wrong people? Her mind was blank of answers. "Why do you need me? Am I a sacrifice to this 'God' you're talking about? Why did you choose me?" She pleaded, with tears entreating escape from her heavy eyelids.

"This 'God' is your God. There is a reason for us choosing you. A reason that has existed since before you were conceived." He stared ahead at the road. She had no idea where they were. All she knew was it was a city, and she had heard the mention of New York, but this didn't seem big enough.

She was wrong. It got bigger. They were at an airport. A very big airport. She wondered how the scenery changed so fast. She dozed off in the car ride. There was no music on the ride, and whatever drugs had been injected the previous night had not entirely worn off.

"I can't help but notice we're approaching an airport." She said slowly, in a hesitant tone. "Why.. are we at an airport?"

"My mission is to take you to Barcelona to the leaders, where your destiny will be fulfilled. That is all you are to know." Silas said, turning his gaze out of one eye to her for only a few seconds. She assessed him. He was well over six feet, pale as a specter, and never seemed to smile. He had many tiny scars painting his entire face, and one large scar under his right eye. Besides the scars, his appearance was somewhat delicate.

Sometime during her sleep, she had acquired a pair of very uncomfortable handcuffs. Silas glanced at her to assess what she was doing. "Put this on" He said, handing her a large sweater. _Clever. It hides the handcuffs._ She thought. But something was odd about them. They weren't cold, and didn't seem metallic at all. "They are plastic. They will not set off the alarms in the airport. NASA design. Quite useful, in our case." He said, without cracking a smile.

"And if I scream? Or try to run?" She said, trying to be confrontational. "Your fate is worse in their hands than in mine, I assure you. They are not far behind. Even now, they will be following us."

The car came to a stop outside the entrance doors. Silas lead the girl through, and into the metropolis of tourists and businessmen.

I swear, it'll develop a lot quicker. I just have very little time to dedicate to my creation. Reviews, please?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Dan Brown's characters, or any of his publications and/or views.

Sitting in a private sound-proof room in the vast airport, Christine stared down at her watch, and wondered what she would be doing this time tomorrow. The room was as silent as a graveyard, and Silas' mannerism had alike traits as well. A chime rang, waking Christine and Silas from their meditation-like states. "Flight 163, Barcelona via New York, now boarding at terminal 13."

Silas rose, and motioned for Christine to follow him. "This is our flight. Follow me, don't talk to anyone, and don't try to run. You won't get far." Silas said, in an indifferent voice. He handed her a fake passport, and plane ticket, and lead her to the check in gate. She walked hurriedly beside him, pleading to every passing face to recognize that something was not right. She knew there was no help for her now. She was only minutes away from departing the country, and hadn't a clue as to what awaited her in the foreign land of Spain. There, there was no hope of even communicating that she was in trouble. Even if she were a cunning linguist, English, French and German were the only languages she spoke.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs.Blanche. Your seat is right through those curtains, row 3 of first class." A woman said to Silas and Christine, upon reading their passports. Silas handled her a little more delicately, as he knew there was no escape opportunities aboard a 747 destined for Barcelona.

They sat in their large leather booth, which was nicer than any corner of Christine's apartment, and then the questions began to pour out.

"Where are you taking me? And don't say Barcelona, because I know there's more to this than just the city. What's in the city? What fate lies there for me?" She had her body turned towards him, and pressed her face just inches away from his. Silas was visually uncomfortable with his lack of personal space. He shifted nervously away, before taking the offensive.

"You needn't know what waits there. It is not for you or me to know. Your task is the simplest of all: Follow me, obey my words, and accept God's plan for you." He said to her, making cautious eye contact. Something seemed to gleam in his eye, though. It was uncertainty. He didn't have a clue as to what was going to happen when they arrived. The greatest of uncertainties was what would happen to him once the leaders had the girl. Why was it him that had to be involved? He was wanted in almost every country in South-Western Europe. Why was it so crucial that he be chosen to escort the girl? What part did he really play in all of this? If he was no more than an escort, surely they'd have chosen someone a little more inconspicuous to complete the journey. Not a 6'4 Albino monk clad in traditional robes.

Christine watched Silas as he nodded off to sleep. She sipped on her complimentary glass of 2004 Banrock Station red wine, and assessed her captor. His face contorted as he slept, as if reliving some vile experience. The fact that he was an Albino was no question. His features were somewhat delicate, especially in comparison to his mannerism. In sleep he seemed like a completely different entity from his true waking self. He moaned softly as if in fear, and tensed his shoulders in preparation to some terrible affliction of pain. He continued with this for a while, and her interest was turned to other things.

A stewardess passed them, and stopped in front of her as quickly as she had appeared from behind the curtains. "Is your husband ok? He looks distressed." The woman said in a Swedish accent. "Oh. He's… fine. Just nightmares. You know the saying, non? Let sleeping dogs lie." She grinned, and gripped his hand to assure the woman of no issue. "Thanks" She stared at the stewardess hard, and wished she would just leave.

"A blanket, Miss" The stewardess said, handing her a thin blanket about 4 square feet wide.

She looked over at Silas, and decided it would be no harm to cover him. She lightly placed the small blue blanket over him, tucking it in behind him very gently. He was much more bearable when asleep. Even if the noises emitted from his throat were somewhat disturbing. He tossed less, now. Perhaps it was the cold causing his state.

It was dark now, as they floated thousands of miles above the Atlantic. The only light was the small illuminator three feet above Christine's head, allowing her to read through a French Magazine she had found discarded under her seat. There had been radical religious protests outside the Vatican due to some questionable funding the Church had been utilizing in studying some prophetic claims in the writings of Nostradamus. Apparently some ritual was supposedly being planned somewhere in Catholic Europe to test the prophecies, and this enraged loyal members of the Catholic Church. These ideas seemed too Pagan to them, and the fact that their money was being spent at a blazing rate to fun such operations was despicable in their eyes.

Silas shifted violently in his sleep. He started to mutter in Latin, and contorted his face into a vile grimace. His trepidations became much more violent, and Christine was growing very worried.

"Nn. No. I will not… STOP!" He yelled. People began to turn in their booths.

Christine turned to him, knelt on the floor in front of him, and placed both hands on his shoulders. She looked closely into his face, and shout-whispered "Silas. Wake up! You are dreaming." She gently shook him, growing anxious from his disturbing behaviour. "Silas…".

His eyes shot open, and he threw the girl across the booth. His eyes were red, and he panted heavily, eyes wide, and fixed directly on Christine. Sweat was visibly dripping from his forehead, and he was becoming extremely aware of every member of the plane staring directly at him.

"I'm… What are you…" He swallowed hard, glancing rapidly from face to face. It was time to put on his game face. "Are you alright? I didn't mean to hurt you." He said, disliking himself more and more with each word of forced concern.

"I'm fine. What the hell was happening to you?" She asked, checking for cuts.

"Just night terrors. They are a life long affliction with no cure." He said, sitting with a look of confusion on his face. How had a blanket gotten on him?

They had been on the plane for nearly six hours now. Hardly a sentence had been exchanged between them. Christine was growing tired of the silence, and decided to shatter it. "Where do you come from?"

Silas seemed to completely ignore this question. "Well?" She insisted, not backing down. He furrowed his brow, and turned his face to hers, though still looking away. "I come from close to where we are going. My travels brought me throughout Europe, and my dwelling in New York was the result of God's works. He took me in as his son, and showed me the path I must follow. That path brought me to you, and that is all you need to know of where I come from." He said, turning away once again. "Thank you." He uttered. "For waking me. It gets… much worse if it goes on too long. The dreaming world is far less forgiving than the waking one."

"You're welcome. Could I have this taken off, now?" She said, pointing to the restraints hidden under her sleeves binding her wrists.

He nodded, and with a knife remnant from their dinner he cut the plastic cuffs off. Christine rubbed the raw spots on her wrists. "Thanks. Appreciate it." She said, with a small smile that faded quicker than it appeared. "What were you dreaming about?"

Silas sighed, and decided it was no harm to share the details. "It was something of my past. Something rather… unpleasant. Someone was killed in front of me. Someone I loved." He said.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I have loved ones, too. I hope they don't have to know how you feel." She said, locking eyes with him, her own tearing up slightly at the thought of what awaited her.

"Your life is valued more than my own. I am sure you needn't worry for now about that." Silas said, closing his eyes. "We'll be arriving soon. You must follow me when we do, and do not speak a word to anyone passing."

"Let's make a deal." She said, sounding oddly chipper. "I will do anything you say, and obey any order I am given on one condition: I stay alive long enough to see the ones I love again in my life." She was crying a little harder now.

"I promise only one thing. I will do all in my power to keep harm from falling on you. My mission is that alone. The reason for that is known only by Bishop Aringarosa." Silas said, bowing his head.

"Thank you, I guess." She smiled at the man. He looked nervously at the woman, and produced something between a sneer and a smile. She took it as the latter.

I have much more coming, and a lot more development of the two characters. This is a product of being tres fatigue after a 9 hour work shift. Cheers, all!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Dan Brown's characters, publications, or any other such material spawned purely out of his imagination.

The plane began a steep descent towards the run strip. Something odd was brought to Christine's attention. Silas was sweating profusely, and his grip was tightening more and more by the second on the small blanket folded on his lap. He looked disturbed, and terrified.

"Are you alright?" She asked, looking quite concerned. His eyes closed tightly, and his breathing quickened, mirroring his accelerating heartbeat. "Hey, you alright? You don't look so good. Do you feel sick?"

Silas shook his head in disagreement. It became more and more obvious each second to her what was wrong. With each shake of the plane's cabin, he worsened. He was scared of flying. She searched her memory of the take off. He took a pill. What pill was it? A sedative, most likely. The cabin shook violently in the Spanish atmosphere. It was a rough night, and lightning cracked the landscape. The pressure dropped suddenly, and their feet were lost beneath them. Silas gasped, and grabbed Christine's hand. She jumped, but did not protest. He was reduced to panting now, and was restraining himself with all the fiber of his being from screaming in terror. She placed her other hand on top of the one already buried in his fingers. He opened his eyes to meet hers in an almost pleading fashion. He buried his face behind her shoulder. The turbulence worsened still. He was letting out pained gasps, as if he were being tortured by some terrible image.

"Stop! Make it… stop! Make it…" He uttered. It stopped. They had landed. Silas slowly unburied his face from the seat, wiping the saliva and tears from his face. Christine stared at him in a silent disbelief.

"What happened there?" She asked. He looked down, and shook the remnants of his terror off. "I don't like flying. It's as simple as that. Just a bit nervous." He answered, putting on a forced stern face. "You are alright now, though?" She asked, wondering why she cared. Perhaps it was because she knew of all the people that would be involved with this operation, he had promised to keep her alive. What other harms he might do to her, she would take them as they came, but for now he seemed harmless.

"Attention all passengers. Please prepare for departing your seats. Welcome to Barcelona." A voice said over the PA. It continued to say this greeting in four other languages. They rose, and began their walk down the cold, dark walkway into the airport.

"Which way, now?" Christine asked. Silas drew a cell phone from his pocket, and dialed a ten digit number. "Yes. We are here. She is… Where? Ten minutes? Yes, father. And with you." He said. He killed the call, and grabbed the girl by the wrist. "This way." He said.

"Whoa, easy. Why do you have to be so fucking rough with me? I said I'd come. I said that when I have no idea what the hell you have planned for me, where we are going, and if I will be alive this time tomorrow. Will you do me the small favour of refraining from hurting me when it is not completely necessary." She demanded.

"Just follow me woman." He released her. His sternness almost intrigued her. She wasn't easily intimidated in any situation, and the fact that he refused to let down his offensive guard just teased her interest even more.

"Why do you call me woman? You know who I am. My name is Christine. Chris, if you wish. Call me that. Woman is so degrading, and obviously I am of some sort of value to your people, whoever they may be." She said, with force.

"Your value is in our possession of you. Not your comfort or points of view, Christine." He answered, nudging her along.

They exited the building to see a limo parked outside just along the sidewalk. _PLEASE be our ride._ Christine thought. To her amazement, Silas lead her up to the limo, and escorted her inside. Their ride was short, though. They stopped on the other side of a large parking lot. The window to the driver's cabin opened, and a hand reached through offering a small piece of paper.

Silas took the piece of paper, and they exited the limo. He read it aloud. It was a lot number. He retrieved a pair of keys from his pocket, and read the card again. It contained directions. They searched for the lot. Lot 3143, it said.

"Where is it?" She asked. Silas stopped dead in his tracks… in front of a Kawasaki Ninja.

"What the… hell. This is a joke." He cursed. "We are to drive THIS?"

Two helmets hung from the bike. One red, one blue. Silas placed the Blue one on his head, and handed the red one to Christine. He climbed on, struck the ignition, and motioned for her to climb on. He nervously mounted the large sport bike. "Hold on, woman" He said.

"Christine!" She yelled, wrapping her arms lightly around his waist. The discomfort both Silas and Christine felt was unimaginable. Silas, perhaps more than her. The grip of a woman, while not foreign to him, was long-since banished from his mind. His jaw was tight as he shifted into third gear, accelerating rapidly. Christine's grip tightened around his waist.

Driving down a large highway similar in speed and scenery to the Autobahn, Silas became annoyedly aware of a car following them for an extended period of time. He looked back, and muttered "hold on…" to Christine. He shifted into fifth, and sped along the highway, hoping to rid them of the odd stalker. However, the car increased in speed, too.

A loud bang sounded, and it was then that they realized the occupants of the vehicle were shooting at them. Silas accelerated rapidly, eyeing an exit ramp sign to his right. He slammed on the breaks, and made a swift turn to the right, skidding through a patch of grass and dust on the way, kicking up a violent cloud of debris. The car stopped on the side of the highway, and backed up at nearly 60 miles an hour. It followed them off the exit ramp.

"What the fuck is happening?" Christine yelled. "Just hold on, and look forward. If anything happens to me, run." He answered.

They turned onto another road, which quickly became gravel. "Where are we going?" She asked. "We're almost there. It looks like we're no longer being followed." Silas answered over the roar of the motor.

They turned a final corner, and there stood a magnificent building. It looked hundreds of years old. Christine had hardly seen anything so ancient in her life time. Even the oldest buildings of Quebec were no older than two hundred years.

"Where are we?" Christine whispered in amazement. "We are at the temple. This is where your destiny lies." He said, parking the bike outside the towering palace.

They entered the door, and there stood twenty men, all wearing lush black robes lined with golden silk. They stood in dressing, hands grasped in front of them.

"Welcome, Silas, Christine. I trust the journey went well, no?" One man in the middle of the group said.

"No, it did not. There were men shooting at us on the freeway. We were nearly killed. And there were spies at the Opus Dei headquarters trying to take Christine from me." Silas said, throwing down his helmet, and approaching the elder. However, he did not make any violent moves. Instead, he fell to one knee, and bowed his head infront of the man. The man bowed in return, and Silas rose.

"You have done well my son, but your task is not over. We meet tonight to carry on the ceremony. You have a very important part in it as well, my son. You see, there is more reason for you being here than just simple transportation of the girl. You have a great honour awaiting you in mere hours. I suggest you take up board here, and cleans yourself of all evil before the ceremony goes under way. We will show you the way to your quarters. Quit your nervous states, and follow me." The man said.

Silas and Christine followed the elder up flights of stairs, and down long endless hallway until finally they stopped in front of two doors. Silas was lead into one, and Christine to the other.

Christine looked around the room. A servant was sitting on a chair in one corner, and in the middle was a large pool with flower petals dancing along the calm warm waters contained within it. Tapestries lined the walls, and candles were lit all around the room.

"Let the cleansing begin!" Said the elder, closing and locking the door behind him. The servant in the corner rose, revealing in the light that she was wearing a mask painted in an odd expression of sorrow. She approached Christine with a small bone handle knife in her left hand, and a bible in the right.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: No, I do not own any of Dan Brown's characters, publications, or original ideas.

Silas sat calmly in the pool in his room, allowing servants to pour oils and Rose petals bountifully into the waters. The scent of Rosewood stained the air, and the room was illuminated by no more than 10 candles burning around its perimeter. He began to dose off, wondering what could possibly lie in store for him. How was he part of the ceremonies? As long as it wasn't sacrificial, it was fine by him.

His mind began to wander. Pictures of swirling colours filled his mind, and before he could control it, he was brought back to the flight. The turbulence and extreme feeling of Vertigo were too much for him to handle. He had flown only once before in his life, and that was on his immigration to America. That journey had been similar. One of the engines failed, and the cabin pressure had dropped rapidly, sending the inhabitants of the plane into a mad scramble to fasten the plastic masks dangling before their eyes onto their faces and the faces of loved ones. Silas grabbed his, but nothing seemed to happen. All around him people began screaming. The man next to him passed out, as did people all throughout the cabin. No air was being fed into the masks. People were screaming, fighting others' masks away from them in hopes of a working line, and vomiting in the aisles. Yet, all Silas could do was stare ahead, eyes wide, waiting for God to call him home. He closed his eyes, and when they opened, he could feel another's hand on his. He saw the virgin, smiling back at him. She blessed him, and as he closed his eyes again, she vanished.

He thought about this, growing more and more disturbed with every recollection of the events. It had been the same this time. He was losing control, ready to fight, or relinquish control to Death's clammy grasp. But, an angel had saved him. His next memory was Christine's hands upon his own, calling him back to reality. How oddly similar that had been to his near death experience only years before.

He felt a silent gratitude for her actions. Any other person could have been there for him, but it was her, and for that he was grateful. The hate he felt for her was merely general dislike towards all members of the weaker sex. The deceivers. The reason man was cast from heaven to suffer among the animals on the Earth's waking planes. However, his dislike was fading for her, and she was beginning to achieve status of a fellow human being in his eyes. Whatever God's plan was for him, it included her. This was evident in the fact that he had been chosen to take her, and had more in store with the ceremonies, due to go underway at any minute. What would they be, though?

All was silent, and suddenly a blood-curdling scream arose in the air from the adjacent room. It was Christine. Silas took flight, pulling his robes over his dripping form, and racing out the door like a shadow fleeing the sun. He attempted to open her door, but it was locked very securely. He began to bang on it, yelling inside for them to open the door. He saw no use in this effort, so quickly receded ten paces, readied himself, then took a plunging run towards the large oak door. It was of no use. It did not open. He repeated this, and the hinges began to bend to his forceful blows. Finally, the door gave way, and fell forward into the room. He saw Christine standing on one side of a table, and a woman clad in black robes brandishing a large knife on the other side, madly swiping at the air.

"Unclean spirit! Your life stops here!" The woman screamed at Christine. "Silas, help!" Christine yelled to him. He ran towards the girl, catching a swift slice from her knife in his shoulder. He recoiled in pain, and then attacked the girl, throwing her onto a candle stand, penetrating her flesh, and skewering her clear through her abdomen.

"Silas, she attacked me! She screamed at me, saying I was an untrue prophet. You saved me. Dear god, thank you!" Christine said, voice trembling in shock from the events.

"Vile… devil… Your life is tainted with sin…" The woman said, lying on the floor bleeding profusely from her stomach.

Silas approached her. "What do you know of this girl?" He asked, placing a hand on the candlestick to inflict more pain. "Why must she die?"

"Your leaders, they are no Catholic priests. They have much more self-indulgent prophecies for her. They are corrupt with the ideas of power. False beliefs, that go against the word of God." The woman said, grimacing in pain from her wound.

"What beliefs do they have? Do you know of the ceremonies that are to take place tonight?" Silas asked, threatening the woman with her own knife, pressing it firmly against her throat.

The woman told Silas and Christine of the horrific plans the leaders had for them. With each fact, the idea grew more and more vile to them.

Silas stood up, watching the woman lying on the floor slowly slip into unconsciousness, and fade into the deep slumber of death. Silas pulled the candle stand from her, and pushed her into the pool in the middle of the room. The waters spiraled a deep crimson as her body floated to the bottom, weighed down by the heavy robes she wore.

Just as Christine rose, there were three forms standing in front of the gaping hole where the door used to stand. They bowed, and motioned for them to follow. Silas and Christine exchanged glances, and followed, deciding any escape was impossible from the completely isolated room. Christine shot him a glance of panic. He shook his head, and pulled his robe aside to reveal to her the woman's knife hidden in his cloak.

They arrived downstairs into a great hall with a platform adorned with jewels and flowers. There, the remaining leaders stood in ceremonial dress, awaiting the two. They were placed in front of the platform. All was silent for what seemed like years. Finally, the leaders bowed. Silas bowed also, motioning for Christine to follow his lead.

"Silas. Christine. You two have a great destiny resting on your shoulders. Tonight, the first step of that destiny will be fulfilled." The elder spoke. Christine swallowed hard, knowing what was in store.

"The truth, Silas, is that God's plan for you is just as significant as his plan for the girl. Both of your lives are essential to this point for the prophecy to be fulfilled. I suppose you are quite curious as to what that destiny is. Silas, Christine. Christine, your bloodline is one of great significance through history. In this year, in the new world, we were to find you. You are the last woman of your line, no?" He asked.

Christine thought, and realized this was true. She had no brothers or sisters. Most of her family had been wiped out during the world wars, and her mother was an only child. "Yes, that is true." She said, hesitantly.

"Silas. The first part of your prophecy was for you to find God through the Bishop, Aringarosa. You were his angel on Earth. Your skin. The prophecy tells of a ghostly angel delivered from evil to the hands of God, and he will be the deliverer. Now, it is to you two to continue this prophecy. You are to produce an heir, and he is to be the next coming of our savior on Earth." The elder spoke, bowing to Silas and Christine.

Christine felt as if she were going to vomit. Suddenly, the platform behind them didn't seem too inviting. A man approached them, reaching for Silas' hand. Silas grasped it lightly, then wrenched the man towards him, spinning his back towards him, and pulled the knife to his throat.

"No such prophecy will be fulfilled here tonight. I know of my fate after this night's proceedings. I am dispensable, and am to be sacrificed in hopes of purifying the deeds to be performed." Silas yelled at them.

He walked slowly, with the man still in his arms. "May God have mercy on your souls!" Silas yelled, throwing the elder down, and quickly mounting the bike he had left parked outside with Christine following closely behind him. "Hold on for your life…" he said to Christine, striking the ignition, and speeding off into the night.

The leaders followed, racing down the roads in three different cars. Silas knew if he were to escape them, he would have to leave the roads. He veered off into the woods, and maneuvered quickly through the foliage and trees. He slowed a couple hundred meters in, and heard voices approaching quickly from behind them. He took flight with Christine wrapped around his waist once again, and sped off into the dark of the night.

More to come! MUCH more to come very soon, once I get home from work. See, see? There's a plot now! Hope you enjoyed.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Dan Brown's characters, publications, or original ideas.

All was dark. The only remnant of the real world was the whining buzz of the bike's engine, protesting the less-than-ideal path its driver had chosen. Christine held tight onto Silas' waist, head pressed firmly against his back, and eyes clung tight in fear of what she might see if they captured a glance of the scenery surrounding them. Silas could feel her breathing becoming quite sporadic, and sensed she was terrified beyond belief. He looked back to check for any dangerous followers, but saw nothing but Christine's frightened face staring back at him, tears staining her cheeks. He turned his sights forward, and reaching down, wrapped his free clutch hand around Christine's, holding it hard in reassurance.

Christine was caught by surprise. The most amazing thing to her was that Silas did not leave her behind for the leaders to deal with. His respect for women was nothing to write home about. Yet still, he had saved her life more than once in the past forty eight hours. But why had he taken her with him? Surely, having another body to claim responsibility to would only slow him down.

The bike slowed, and Silas pulled his helmet off. He was breathing heavily, and a look of terror was evident on his face. "I think we've lost them. There's no way they could have followed us through the woods on foot this far." Silas said, only half sure of his theory. Upon those words, they heard a distant humming approaching at a rapid rate.

"What.. is that?" Christine said, voice trembling. "I think they are coming." Silas answered. They were. Somehow, a bike had made it through the woods. Not one bike, but four as they could see, four individual lights were searching madly through the dank woods in search of them.

"Hold on." Silas said, and began to speed away. Suddenly, a loud explosion echoed through the woods from behind them, followed by about three more loud noises. Silas recoiled in pain as a bullet tore through the flesh in his back, making its way deep into his muscles. The bike kept going forward. Silas was holding on with all his energy to escape the grasps of whoever these leaders really were. The bike roared through the trees, weaving through a non-existent path. He increased his speed, and finally, they came to a small clearing. They raced across it, and wove into the woods once more. They continued for nearly ten minutes before once again slowing. It was curiosity that forced Silas to stop this time. From out of the shadows appeared a small cottage. No lights were on, and there was no sign of any current inhabitants.

Silas stopped the bike in the woods by the cabin, just out of sight. They dismounted, and in climbing off Silas collapsed to the ground. Christine threw her helmet into the woods, and immediately fell to her knees to aid him.

"Silas! Silas, are you ok? Can you hear me?" Christine yelled, rolling him over. The wound was merely in the flesh, and the bullet had exited his back. It didn't seem too deep, but still it bled in torrents. "Silas, we have to get inside. Maybe they won't find us there." She spoke. His only answer was an inaudible moan escaping his lips.

Christine pulled him to his feet, and practically dragged him to the front door. She pushed it open, and he fell to the floor in front of her. She grabbed him by the arms, and pulled him backwards to a small cot in the middle of the room. The shack was small, but it had few windows, and was furnished with enough modest possessions to make due for the moment. She noticed a pump in the corner, obviously connected to an underground well. Grabbing a cloth, she wet it, and ran to Silas' side.

"Silas, can you hear me? I need to wipe down your wounds. Are you awake? You need to stay awake!" Christine pleaded to him. His eyes opened, and he gazed into her face. "Are you the mother?" He whispered. "No, Silas. It's me, Christine. Stay with me!" Christine ordered, crying heavily. She kneeled in front of him, and held his hands firmly in her own. "You saved me, Silas. Now it's my turn. You'll be fine, I promise!" She began sobbing, laying her head on his chest. The fear of being alone was worse than any other she'd ever had. If he was gone, she would be left as easy meat for the insane religious groups. Her hand still gripped his, and as she was preparing herself for the worst, she felt him grasp back.

"Christine. Are we safe?" He said, in a pained voice. "For now, yes. Just please, stay awake for me." She had read in one of her dad's psychology books of a phenomenon in which a captive person begins to sympathize with their captor in a sort of brainwashing fashion. She wondered deeply if this was the case, but had a strong feeling that it was something else. He'd saved her from certain death and torture more than once, and it was her turn to repay the favour.

She laid on his chest, and wept for hours before finally succumbing to the seduction of sleep.

She awoke in the dawn. For a moment, she'd forgotten how she got there. Realizing the events of the previous evening, she gasped. She looked down to Silas. His chest was rising and falling. _Thank god. He made it through the night._ His eyes opened, and locked on her face. "Thank you, Christine." He said with a hoarse voice. She smiled, and had to fight back crying as she saw life in his pale face.

"I think we're safe here. I don't think they followed us this far." She said, watching his breath go in and out. "We're safe only for a short while. We need to board up the cabin. That way perhaps we will be safe for longer. Then after that, who knows." He said, attempting to sit up. He nearly fell back, but Christine grabbed him by the hand, helping him up. He looked her in the eyes, and smiled. It was an uncomfortable feeling for her, as the facts of last night were weighing heavily on her mind. A prophecy in which she was to produce an heir, with him? Against both of their will. How would that even work? Raping a woman is one thing, but a man? The idea seemed almost funny to her, as she pictured them forcing him into such things.

"So what now? What do we do?" She asked. "We pray. And hopefully, we can escape to the coast where we will be safe. They will want to capture you, and probably me as well." He said, grimacing as he inspected his own wounds.

Christine stood now. "Wait." Silas said, motioning for her to return to him. "What will we do if they capture us again?" He asked. "That won't happen. They won't get me or you. I owe you one or two anyways, so that promise is good for one get out of crazy Christian jail free." She answered. As she turned, Silas watched her walk away. She'd saved his life despite him taking her from her home, and forcing her into a journey half way across the world.

She walked across the room towards the pump, and clumsily tripped over the carpet. It folded back, and as she turned to replace it, noticed a metal ring attached to the floor boards. She inspected it, and pulled it up. The floor boards lifted, and revealed a long pathway down into the darkness of the underground.

"Silas. There's a path here." She said, stunned. "Jesu Christe. I know where we are." He said, with a look of panic on his face.


End file.
